Another Curse of Our Indian Possessions
by medcat
Summary: Early!fic, written to fulfill a prompt at Watson's Woes LJ comm for comm's 1st birthday party. Enteric fever wasn't the only thing Watson contracted during his Army service in India...
1. Chapter 1

**February 1881  
Holmes**

I was leaning back in my armchair smoking my favourite pipe; the fire crackled merrily in the hearth. Watson would be lunching at his club, he said at breakfast, Mrs. Hudson went to visit her sister overnight, and I admit I was rather enjoying my solitude. Watson was by no means an obnoxious fellow-lodger, but it was still rather difficult for me to grow used to living with another person in such close proximity.

All of a sudden, the doorbell pealed frantically. Laying my pipe aside with an annoyed growl, I strode to the door and yanked it open. My annoyance only increased when I beheld an unfamiliar gentleman supporting my fellow-lodger, who looked deathly pale and was barely able to keep his feet.

"Watson? What on earth happened?!" I inquired, rather pointedly.

"It's nothing, Holmes, I'll be all right shortly," Watson muttered, his voice barely above a whisper.

"He collapsed suddenly whilst we were playing billiards, Mr. Holmes," the unfamiliar gentleman hastened to explain. "My name's Morrison."

"Pleased to meet you, I'm sure," I uttered the required courtesy mechanically. "Well, don't stand there, Mr. Morrison; come in." I took Watson's other arm and together we guided him to the settee.

"Will you be all right?" Morrison asked Watson once he sat down.

"Yes, yes, William. Go on."

"If you're sure," Morrison retorted dubiously. "Well, good day, Mr. Holmes. Doctor."

I showed him out and came back to my fellow lodger.

"Doctor? Is there anything you require?"

"No…no, I don't think so." His appearance belied his words; he was ghastly white and still shivering.

"Doctor…are you certain? You don't look at all well."

"Thank you, Holmes," he muttered drily and I was glad to see he could still jest.

"Seriously, now, what is wrong? Shall I summon another physician?"

"No, no need for that," he sighed. "Just…would you hand me my bag and a glass of water?"

I hastened to fetch the required items, handing them both to him, and went to get a blanket from his bedroom, draping it over him.

He gave me a grateful smile after swallowing a powder he retrieved from his bag and draining the water glass.

A sudden thought occurred to me.

"Uh…Doctor, this…sudden illness of yours is not contagious, is it?"

Watson gave the ghost of a smile. "Not unless you intend to draw some blood from me and inject it into your veins. It's malaria, Holmes…another souvenir of my Army career, I'm afraid."

"It is fortunate you've quinine on hand, then."

"Fortune has nothing to do with it; I always keep a supply handy."

"I see; my apologies."

"No, no need. I apologise; I should not have been so irritable."

"It's quite all right, Doctor."

A few minutes passed, him leaning back on the settee with his eyes half-closed and me looking at him. Then he opened his eyes and startled me by inquiring in a rather annoyed tone of voice, "Whyever are you staring at me so, Holmes?"

I rose to my feet, fetched the hand mirror from my desk and proffered it to him. "See for yourself, Doctor."

"Ah, I see," he muttered upon seeing in the mirror that his face was bright red and reached into his bag, pulling out his thermometer. He slid it under his tongue and we were both silent for the next few minutes. Then he slid the thermometer out of his mouth, read it and winced, muttering, "Why am I not surprised."

"Doctor? How high is it?"

"102," he sighed.

"That is not so bad…"

"I guarantee you, Holmes, it will go much higher."

"Is there anything you need?"

"Well…another glass of water, if it's not too much trouble…and do you mind terribly if I stay down here?"

"No, of course not," I assured him, handing him the glass.

He drained it eagerly, muttering a thank-you. This new fellow-lodger of mine was courteous to a fault. Feeling awkward just sitting there staring at him, I removed myself to my desk and applied my efforts to updating my commonplace book, pasting recent newspaper cuttings into it. I grew quite absorbed in my work and was surprised to find an hour passed when I glanced up at my desk clock. Looking over at Watson, I saw him removing the thermometer from his mouth.

"How high, Doctor?" I inquired matter-of-factly.

"106. _Quod erat demonstrandum_," he exhaled, collapsing back against the cushions. He sounded so utterly miserable that, despite my annoyance with this interruption to the pleasant afternoon I was having, I was moved to ask, "Are you quite certain you do not want me to call another doctor?"

"Thank you, Holmes, but that truly is not necessary. Just a few more hours and I shall be quite all right."

I brought him a washcloth and a small basin of cold water, which he took from me in grateful surprise, laying the wet washcloth on his forehead.

"That feels much better; thank you." I nodded and went back to my index, but unaccountably could not concentrate and kept stealing glances in his direction.

About two more hours passed in this manner…then I saw Watson remove the thermometer from his mouth and give a small smile of satisfaction. "104, Holmes."

"It's decreasing, then?"

"Yes," he agreed. "I already feel much better."

"You're dripping with sweat, though," I observed.

"That is normal."

"I see."

As the evening went on, his temperature gradually decreased to normal and he slipped into an exhausted sleep. Eventually, I retired to my bedroom myself, leaving the door open, just in case. True to his word, he looked fine, if somewhat exhausted, when he made his appearance at breakfast the next morning. Mrs. Hudson was not yet back, but I managed to get tea, toast, and porridge on the table without setting the kitchen afire.

"How are you feeling?" I inquired, out of courtesy.

"Much better. And, Holmes?"

"Yes?" I inquired warily.

"Thank you. You've been most kind."

I squirmed uneasily; how I loathed those emotional demonstrations! I truly never knew what to say in return…then a sudden thought occurred to me.

"You are quite welcome, Doctor. You do, however, realise that I have a vested interest in your well-being?"

"Oh?" he inquired, surprised.

"I do rather like our current lodgings, and you _are_ paying half the rent."

We both laughed for the next few minutes, he in amusement and I in sheer relief.

* * *

**A/N:** Thanks for reading; hope you enjoyed! Reviews, C&C most welcome, as usual. And a plug for a good cause: if you've a minute, please look at this: www. bafta4jb. com (remove spaces :)


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: **Lemon Zinger liked my story and got the idea of writing chapter 2—same events described from Watson's point of view. She generously gave me her work to append to my chapter1—so what you see below is hers and all compliments should thus go to her.

* * *

**February 1881**

**Watson  
**  
It was embarrassing enough to have collapsed at my club, causing the other gentleman great alarm when my legs gave way beneath me. I had been waiting to  
take my turn at billiards, sipping my brandy, when I suddenly felt a flash of dizziness. I put my drink down and leaned against the table, relieved as it passed. William Morrison, a newly discovered friend, had asked if I was all right. I had nodded, only to find myself on the floor a second later.

He had helped me home, shooing away the other men who were crowding around me. He had fetched a cab and refused to let me pay the fare. I was grateful for his kindness, but when we reached 221B I was almost reluctant to go in. I hadn't known Holmes very long and hated to inconvenience him with my ailment.

Holmes answered the door rather quickly, looking a little annoyed. "Watson, what on earth happened?" he asked.

"It's nothing, Holmes, I'll be all right shortly," I said, my voice weak. I was beginning to be able to judge my illness based on the symptoms.

"He collapsed suddenly whilst we were playing billiards, Mr. Holmes," I heard Morrison explain. He introduced himself and helped Holmes get me to the settee.

It was a long walk, one I was glad was finally over. At least now I could rest for a minute.

"Will you be all right?" Morrison asked me.

"Yes, yes, William. Go on," I said, nodding to him.

"If you're sure," Morrison answered, and I was grateful for his kindness. He said his farewells and left. Holmes saw him out and then returned to me.

"Doctor, is there anything you require?" He asked. He was scrutinizing me carefully.

I was trying to stop shivering, but knew it was hopeless. "No… no," I said. "I don't think so."

"Doctor, are you certain?" he asked, one of his eyebrows going up. "You don't look at all well."

"Thank you, Holmes," I said, taking no real offense.

"Seriously, now, what is wrong? Shall I summon another physician?" Holmes asked. I was beginning to think he was a little more than concerned about me.

"No, no need for that," I sighed, and then I noticed how dry my mouth had become. I asked him if he would kindly fetch my bag and a glass of water.

He did so instantly, seeming glad to have something to do. He also brought a blanket and covered me with it. I took some quinine and drank some water before smiling at him to show my gratitude.

He suddenly looked nervous.

"This sudden illness of yours isn't contagious, is it?" He asked. I pitied him, having to worry about his health because of me.

I reassured him that he would only catch it if he borrowed some of my blood. "It's malaria," I told him of my diagnosis. "Another souvenir of my army career, I'm afraid."

He told me I was lucky to have medicine on hand, but I got irritated by him hovering around as if he were a doctor himself. I snapped back about always keeping some on hand.

When he apologised, I instantly felt guilty. "I should not have been so irritable," I said with a weak smile. I hoped he'd forgive me; I was merely becoming very uncomfortable. I was still suffering from a good deal from the symptoms and had little patience.

"It's quite all right, Doctor."

I leaned back, closing my eyes for a moment. I did not hear him move for several minutes and realised he was still watching me. I opened my eyes and again snapped at him, asking him why he was staring.

"See for yourself, Doctor," he said, offering me a hand mirror. I almost hesitated to look.

I saw what I expected to see, my flushed, red face (which did look rather ghastly, I could understand Holmes' reaction). I decided to check my temperature so I could keep a record of how it fluctuated.

Holmes waited for me. I was growing continuously surprised at his concern for my well-being.

"Doctor? How high is it?" Holmes asked.

I ignored the temptation to ask him if he wanted to make a thorough examination of his own, and instead just told him the figure with a sigh.

"That's not so bad…" Holmes said.

He was right, but it was bound to get worse. I took another gulp of water and found I had emptied the glass.

"Is there anything you need?" He asked again.

I held up the glass. "Another glass of water, if it's not too much trouble," I said. I intended to rest for a little while and asked him if he would mind my being down here in the sitting room. I knew I couldn't make it to my room alone, but if he really didn't want me around, he could help.

"No, of course not," Holmes replied, handing me the refilled glass. I drank it all and thanked him. He finally went to find something to do and I heard him working at his desk. I spent a restless hour – never fully awake, never fully asleep – before I decided to check my temperature again.

"How high, Doctor?" Holmes asked, looking over from his desk.

It had gone up four degrees, thereby proving my earlier statement. I felt exhausted and wretched.

"Are you quite certain you do not want me to call another doctor?" Holmes asked again. I was too miserable to comment about how kind he was being. I again told him I would be fine in only a few hours.

To my astonishment, he brought me a basin of cold water and a washcloth, which I applied to my forehead. It cooled me somewhat, and I made sure to express my  
gratitude.

I tried to sleep, but found that sleep did not come easily. A few times I opened my eyes to see Holmes looking at me, but he quickly turned back to what he was doing.

Two more long hours passed, and I finally decided to reach over for my thermometer and check my temperature again. I was feeling slightly better and was relieved when the red bar revealed a lower temperature.

"104, Holmes," I said, before he could ask.

He made some comment about my sweating, which I reassured him was normal. He continued to stay nearby all evening, and even left his bedroom door open when he retired. I managed to get some sleep overnight and the next morning was feeling much better.

When I woke, Holmes was setting food on the table. I wondered where our good landlady was, and then suddenly remembered her trip. Holmes must have made breakfast.

I went over to join him, smiling at the breakfast. It was nothing fancy, but still a very special gesture on Holmes' part.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

He continued to astonish me with his kindness, and I quickly told him I was feeling better.

"And, Holmes?" I asked, waiting until he looked at me. "Thank you. You've been most kind." I said.

He shifted uncomfortably and I realized I had made him feel awkward. I hurried to busy myself with breakfast when he surprised me with a retort.

"You are quite welcome, Doctor. You do, however, realise that I have a vested interest in your well being?"

"Oh?" I asked, surprised.

"I do rather like our current lodgings, and you are paying half the rent." Holmes pointed out.

We shared a laugh that melted the awkwardness. I was rather glad I had taken up rooms with my curious companion.


End file.
